


Alternate Ashes: The Bluebird

by Sforzie



Series: The Phoenix of Alexandria [2]
Category: Final Fantasy II, Final Fantasy IX, Final Fantasy X, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9768287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sforzie/pseuds/Sforzie
Summary: An alternate ending to 'The Phoenix of Alexandria'.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tareacel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tareacel/gifts).



> This was written as a Valentine's day present for tareacel. 
> 
> This is an alternate ending to The Phoenix of Alexandria, and contains spoilers as such.

The Phoenix of Alexandria: Alternate Ashes: The Bluebird  
By: Sforzie

Kuja went to the funeral. He wore black and stood under a black umbrella that Seymour held up for him. The service was not very long, and though it was well attended, Kuja knew that most of the people there were only present out of obligation. When it was over, they stood in the rain and watched the crowd pay their respects to Belias and disperse.

“Did you want to say something to Belias?” Seymour asked, his voice soft. Kuja looked at Mateus’s brother, who was scarcely visible through the thick throng of guards he had posted around him. 

“No,” Kuja said. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“Neither do I.” Seymour shifted on his feet. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking about getting something to eat. Maybe brunch at Selphie’s or something. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like. My treat.”

Kuja opened his mouth, ready to turn down Seymour’s offer. He stopped and closed his mouth.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Seymour said. “I’d understand.”

“No, it’s alright,” Kuja said. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure, something to eat sounds good. Haven’t done much eating the last few days.”

“My diet’s been mostly liquor, to be honest.” He sighed. “Some bacon and eggs might do me nicely.”

The left the cemetery, but had not gone very far before Kuja noticed the familiar form of Mateus’s former bodyguard loitering under an storefront overhang. They paused, and Kuja tilted his umbrella back enough to look up at the man.

“Ansem.”

“Mr. Tribal. Mr. Guado.”

Kuja couldn’t recall having seen the dark man at the funeral, and felt pressed to say as much. “You weren’t at the funeral.”

“I was a few rows behind you,” Ansem said, his expression blank as ever. Kuja had long ago given up trying to read the man’s face. The man’s amber eyes flicked between Kuja and Seymour. “He would have been glad that you were both there.”

“Yes, well,” Seymour said. “We both loved him. What kind of people would we be, were we not in attendance?” Kuja gave a slight nod of agreement.

“What sort of lover would I be if I did not see him on his way?”

Ansem stared at Kuja for a moment, and then inclined his head minutely. “You are better men than people of Mr. Palamecia’s ilk deserve to associate with.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Kuja said. “But, I’m not sure if that matters, now.”

“Will you continue working for the Palamecias?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Kuja looked at his gloved hands. “I only ever really started as a favor for Seymour.”

The blue haired man cleared his throat. “That’s all past, now.”

“It is,” Ansem said.

“What are you going to do now, Ansem?” Kuja asked. “Will you keep working for the family?”

“No,” the dark man said flatly. “My contract of employment was exclusively with Mateus Palamecia.”

“What will you do?”

“Go back to my family.”

Kuja stared at Ansem for a moment, unable to imagine what sort of family Ansem had been neglecting for the years he had been working for Mateus. He just forced a smile and nodded.

“Well, good. They probably miss you.”

“They probably think me dead, but, I do not suppose I deserve better.” Ansem shrugged minutely. He reached into his jacket pocket. Kuja reflexively tensed as the gray morning light glinted off the grip of the gun strapped to his chest. “He left this with me, after he was shot, to give you if something happened to him.” Ansem pulled a plain envelope out from inside his jacket. Kuja took it, holding it up close to his face. His name was written there in Mateus’s handwriting.

“What is this?”

“I do not know. A letter, I would suppose. He did not tell me.” Ansem smoothed the front of his jacket and resumed looking impassively at Kuja. “He only said that it was for your eyes only.”

Kuja hurriedly tucked the envelope away inside his own jacket. “Thank you, Ansem. I will read it later, in private.”

Ansem nodded. “Good. Now then, I have fulfilled my final duty to Mateus Palamecia, and must be on my way.” He looked between them again for a moment. “Good-bye, Mr. Tribal, Mr. Guado.”

Kuja watched the man turn and walk off down the street, disappearing forever into the shadows of Alexandria. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the envelope.

“Mateus didn’t leave a note for me,” Seymour said lowly. Kuja couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or perplexed. Perhaps both.

“Well, then, I suppose there was a perk to being his lover.”

Seymour smiled at him and shook his head, rueful. “It would seem you are right.”

 

They continued on through the rain, eventually reaching Selphie’s diner and finding a table. Kuja thought, as he sat across from Seymour and watched the older man grimly fidget with his menu, that they had never really done this before. That is, when they had been a couple, Seymour had never taken him out in public like this. It was a pity, he mused, that it took the death of someone they cared about to bring this sort of situation into existence.

“You alright?”

“No,” Kuja said. He cleared his throat. “But, you knew that.”

They lapsed into quiet after ordering, looking out the window at the gray, rainy morning. There was something awkward and unpleasant about the quiet that stretched between them. He started to wish that he could think of something, anything to say. But the only things he could think to speak of made him feel awful and broken inside, and so he said nothing.

The waitress brought their coffee.

They sat in silence again, sipping their coffee for several minutes. Then, Seymour cleared his throat.

“I was thinking,” he said. His dark eyes were focused on the lip of his coffee cup. 

“What about?”

“About leaving Alexandria. I mean, it’s been my home most of my life. But, I think now might be the best time for me to pull up my roots and head someplace else. I don’t think it’s safe here for me anymore.”

“I know that feeling,” Kuja said softly. Seymour reached across the table and covered one of Kuja’s hands with his own. Kuja looked at their hands.

“I was thinking it would be nice to sell the Zanarkand, and go someplace else. Maybe start up a new club, who knows? But, somewhere I could start over, where no one knew me. Where I wasn’t living in the shadow of everything that’s here in Alexandria.”

Kuja didn’t say anything. He knew how Seymour felt. The brilliant glow of Alexandria only shone its lights on things that brought Kuja sadness now.

“And it would be so lovely if I could--” He stopped and swallowed, his fingers squeezing Kuja’s. “If you would be there with me. To give me another chance.”

“Seymour--”

“I know I don’t--” He faltered. “I know I don’t really deserve another chance with you, after how poorly I treated you before. But, I...”

Kuja sighed softly. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I just don’t know right now what I’m going to do with myself.”

“I understand. And I wouldn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you into anything. But, I’d like for you to give it some consideration.”

He swallowed. “I will.”

“Thank you.” Seymour’s hand slid back, until just the tips of his fingernails were brushing against the other man’s. Kuja couldn’t help but notice the chewed on appearance of the nail on his index finger. “I know I mistreated you.”

“No, you didn’t--”

“I did. I neglected you. Seeing you so happy with Mateus, I knew what I had done wrong. Mateus never treated you poorly. Never acted like he was ashamed to be seen with you in public.” Seymour leaned in slightly. “I wasn’t ashamed of you, Kuja.”

“I know.”

“I just. It’s hard, having an image to maintain. And Mateus was just better at it. He was a better man than I.”

“That’s not true, Seymour, and you know it.”

“All the same.” His gaze returned to the lip of his cup. Kuja stared at him for a long moment. He took in the tired, sad look on the other man’s face. Seymour had taken the death of Mateus Palamecia almost as hard as he himself had. They had been close, after all, and known each other a long time.

“Do you think you could stand it?”

Seymour made a curious noise and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I think it would take me a long time to look at you and not think of him and be sad,” Kuja said. “Right now I can’t even imagine it happening. And I’m sure I would just be a reminder to you, as well.”

“Is a reminder a bad thing?” He lifted his hand and reached across the table, fingertips gently touching Kuja’s cheek. The touch was warm and familiar, even though he had not felt it in some months.

“I don’t want the reason we’re together again to be because Mateus died,” he said. 

“I know. But, it is what it is, right? If Matty were still here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Kuja felt a sting in his eyes. “Is it wrong of me to say I’d trade this to have him back?”

“No,” Seymour said. “Because, I would say the same thing. I would gladly lose you again forever, just to have him alive again.” He let out a shaky sigh, and his hand lowered to the tabletop. “But, we know that isn’t going to happen. So, here we are.”

Kuja thought for a moment. Then he said: “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Mm.” Seymour’s long fingers curled slightly. “Truth be told, yes, I would look at you and be reminded of him, as well. So, we would be equal in that suffering. I would like to think that, given time, we could let him rest in peace and find a way to be happy again.”

“Would that be okay?”

Seymour pursed his lips in thought. “Yeah. I think so. I knew Matty about as well as any fellow could without, well, being his lover. And I don’t think he would want us to be sad forever.”

“He wanted to escape this all, too,” Kuja said. Seymour swallowed.

“Then, I think the best thing we could do to honor his memory would be to get away for him.”

Kuja reached across the table and covered Seymour’s hand with his own. “Just give me some time to think, okay?”

“Okay.” Seymour looked down at their hands. “I was wondering. Would you like to come back with me to my place? Maybe have a drink. Talk about plans.”

“It’s Sunday morning, Seymour,” Kuja said. “What about church?”

“Went to mass yesterday,” he said. “Thought it would be good to get all that booze off my chest before going to Matty’s funeral.”

“Oh. I see.” Kuja considered. “Yeah, I think I could use something to drink right now.”

 

After they ate, Kuja and Seymour made their way through the city and to Seymour’s apartment. As they made their way along, Kuja noticed a pair of Shinra thugs loitering on the other side of the street and watching them. He caught himself reflexively searching the shadows for a familiar white haired head, and had to stop himself from looking. Ansem would not be there, now. He had no reason to be.

They reached the apartment building with no further issue. As he followed Seymour inside the once familiar space, Kuja couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that it had been months since he had last really spent any time in the apartment with Seymour. His check-up with Seymour a few days after Mateus’s death had been his first time there since he could recall. 

It hadn’t changed. The setting was as sparse as ever--lamp, bookshelf, radio, couch--but something about it brought a bit of comfort to Kuja’s heart. He wasn’t sure why.

“Have a seat. I’ll get some glasses.” Seymour gestured toward the old couch. 

Kuja sank into the cushions and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of Seymour moving around in the kitchen, and for a moment could almost convince himself that it was two years earlier. The stiffness of the envelope Ansem had delivered to him pressed against his breast and ruined that fantasy. He sighed and opened his eyes at the sound of Seymour returning to the living room. He was carrying two small glasses in his right hand, and a bottle of some amber colored liquid in the left. Seymour sat next to him on the couch.

“Not much for interior decorating, are you? I’m not sure you’ve even dusted off the lamp since the last time I stayed the night.”

Seymour shrugged as he filled the glasses. “I’m not home much, except to sleep, so I haven’t had much cause.” He held one of the glasses out to Kuja, who took it with a nod.

“It’s just a bit drab and lonely.”

“Then, it suits me well,” Seymour said. He tipped his head back and downed half the contents of his glass. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Kuja didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing. He thought of Seymour as he had known him in years passed, before Mateus had ever come into the picture. Quiet, elegant, charming--these things had contributed to whatever it was that had made Seymour so irresistible to Kuja some two and a half years before. Despite his own insecurities, Seymour had always been kind and sweet to Kuja. Even when the younger man had started to become involved with Mateus Palamecia, Seymour had never been unkind to him.

Kuja looked into his glass. “So, um, tell me something.”

Seymour was tipping his own glass from side to side, watching the liquid slosh back and forth. “Yeah, what’s that?”

“You said you loved me, when we were together,” he said. “But, if you did, then why didn’t you do anything when Mateus and I got involved? You were my boyfriend, Seymour.”

The blue haired man was quiet. He turned his glass in his long fingers.

“Seymour?”

“I couldn’t compete with Matty,” Seymour finally said. “And I knew you deserved better than someone like me. Someone who wasn’t too ashamed of himself to really make you happy.”

“You did used to make me happy, in your own way.” Kuja smiled to himself. “You made me breakfast on nights when I slept over. Mateus couldn’t cook.”

“Matty was just a lot... freer with himself than I could ever be, even with the position that he found himself in with his family.”

“Were you envious?”

“Now and then.” He shrugged. “But, you were happy, and Matty was happy, so I thought it for the best.”

“But, you weren’t happy.”

“With the Zanarkand, I haven’t had time to worry about being happy,” Seymour said. “Worrying about keeping the business going and afloat and staying out of jail is all I have time for these days.”

“And now?”

He frowned for a moment, and then looked at Kuja. “Now, I’m ready to let it all go. Just leave, find some place to be happy.”

“With me.”

“If you’d give me the chance, yes.”

Kuja hesitated. “Do you think that would be right? Mateus is barely cold in the ground. Should I really be running off with you?”

The blue haired man stared down at him for a moment, and then looked away. “Trust me. I thought of that question myself.”

“And?”

Seymour shrugged. “Matty loved you, in part at least, for the same reason I do. Because you are just so... alive. So full of light and fire and things that are so easy to lose sight of in this city. You made us both feel alive. And so I think...” He trailed off, and then shook his head. “I don’t think that Mateus would want your fire to go out. He would be sad to know that his death had caused that.”

“So you think that he would want me to go back to you?”

“Maybe. I can’t speak for a dead lawyer. But, yeah, maybe I do.”

Kuja sighed. “It sounds almost reasonable when you put it like that.”

“Do you think that’s what he would want?”

“I don’t think he wanted to be dead,” he said, voice soft. “He wanted to escape his life, to escape the city. To run away into anonymity. But, not to die. Being shot scared him more than he wanted to admit.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Kuja said.

Seymour picked up the bottle and poured a bit more of the dark yellow liquid into his glass. “I always worried about Matty, you know? Even before he became the underboss for his family.”

“You were friends. Friends worry about each other’s well being.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” He trailed off, and took a gulp from his glass. “I knew him as a kid, you know? And growing up. Always the quiet sort. But in college, he, um... I guess you could say something about him changed. I don’t know what. Never asked. Maybe it was just family pressure or school or something. But he drank a lot, and when he was sober he was always kind of... grim.”

Kuja looked at him.

“I don’t know what happened to him, but he sort of began to become obsessed with his own death,” Seymour said. “Especially with the sort of business his family was involved with. He would lay on his bed and postulate different ways he might die. You say being shot scared him, well, yeah. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. First time he lost so much blood he nearly did die. I remember his mother calling my mother to talk about it. I was already busy with the Zanarkand then. It was days before I saw him. That grimness had returned to him after he recovered.”

“I didn’t know,” Kuja said. “He didn’t really like to talk about it.”

“No, he didn’t.” Seymour sighed. “I think by then he had kind of given up. Wasn’t going to fight for himself.”

“He always spent a lot of time at the windows when I was at work,” Kuja said. “I always thought that was a little strange. I never asked him what he was looking for.”

“Maybe death.” The blue haired man frowned. “It’s sad. I mean, I think meeting you and--and--falling in love with you made him want to live a little. And it frustrated him, and scared him a little because he had already given up on any kind of longevity. He felt Ansem could only the reaper at bay for so long.”

Kuja swallowed, feeling his eyes sting. “Mateus...”

Seymour hurriedly set his glass down and leaned toward Kuja. “Hey, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Kuj. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “It’s just still a really fresh wound, you know?”

“I know.” Seymour shook his head slowly. “Trust me, I know probably better than anyone else.” He pulled Kuja into a hug and rested his cheek in the other man’s silky violet hair. 

They sat like that for several minutes, Kuja’s shoulders shaking silently as he cried.

“I want to be a better man,” Seymour finally said. “For myself. For you. For him.”

Kuja pulled away and looked up at him. He was surprised by the tracks of tears on Seymour’s cheek. He reached up, brushing at a wet line.

“I don’t now what to say, Seymour. I’m not done with my feelings for Mateus.” 

Seymour tipped his face to the side, just enough to press his cheek against Kuja’s fingers. 

“I love you, Kuja,” Seymour said, his voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed. “And I’m not rushing you through your mourning. But, I can’t help but hope that you might be able to return the feeling again one day.”

“One day, maybe,” Kuja said.

Seymour leaned away, back into his own cushion. He picked up his glass and took a sip. They were quiet for a few minutes.

Then Seymour asked: “What was in the letter Mateus left for you?”

“I don’t know,” Kuja said. “I haven’t read it, yet.” 

He set his glass down and retrieved the letter. The envelope was plain, likely taken from his office on Theater street. It was adorned only by Kuja’s name, penned neatly in Mateus’s handwriting. Kuja ran his fingers over the black letters. Something clenched in his stomach and he shook his head.

“I can’t bear to look at it, not yet,” he said. “It’s probably sad, and if I read it now I might just drown myself in tears.”

“Let me read it, then,” Seymour said. He plucked the envelope from Kuja’s fingers.

“What? No, it’s private! He wrote it to me.”

“I would probably end up reading it eventually anyways.”

“Yes, but--” Kuja stopped and heaved a sigh. “Fine. Read it to me.”

Seymour carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a lone folded piece of stationary from Mateus’s office. The faint, faded smell of Mateus’s cologne drifted to Kuja’s nose. Seymour cleared his throat and began to read:  
“ _’Dear Kuja. I write you this letter, my body wracked with pain and my heart by paranoia. It is only a week since I was shot in your office. I write you this in secret. Where are you now? I do not know. I believe have gone home to get a change of clothes, or something like that. The pain makes my head a little foggy. Where will you be when you read this? I know not that, either, but I can only hope that you are safe.’_ ”  
Seymour paused in reading to take a sip from his glass. He cleared his throat and continued.  
“ _’I know that Alexandria is the place we both call home, where we both grew up, where we met and fell in love. The time since I met you has made me happier than I can recall being in a long time. But, as you are reading this, that time has passed, as have I. Alexandria is no longer safe, and I can only beseech you to not stay in the city. Even with me gone, the Shinra will still see you as an in on the family, and that puts your safety at risk. But, you've always been clever, and I'm sure you already knew that. I love you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Kuja. I love you. Good-bye, Mateus.’_ ”

Kuja was silent when the letter was finish, unable to speak due to the painful lump in his throat.

“Kuja?” Seymour’s voice was gentle, concerned.

“It’s not fair,” Kuja managed to croak out. Seymour touched his shoulder.

“I know, hon.” He looked at the letter. “There’s a postscript.”

“Read it.”

“ _’Kuja. Due to familial issues, I am unable to directly leave anything for your well being in my will. However, that does not stop me from leaving something for you, just in case. If you go to the bank near the courthouse, give them your name and sign for the contents of box 2910. I would recommend not opening the contents of the box until you are somewhere private. Warmest loving regards, Mateus.’_ ”

Kuja frowned. He took a gulp from his glass, trying to ease the pain in his throat. “He left me something?”

“It would seem so.” Seymour sighed. “At least he left enough money in my accounts to keep the Zanarkand afloat another few weeks.” He folded the letter. “He looked out more for those he cared about than he liked to let on to the public eye.”

“He cared,” Kuja said. “I know he did.”

“Yeah, I know he did, too.” Seymour pursed his lips into a smile. “We’ll go by the bank later and see what he left you. I mean, we, if you want me to come along with you.” He busied himself tucking the letter back into the envelope. “I don’t want to presume. But, I don’t want to think of you being alone right now. And I... I don’t want to be alone either, to be honest.”

Kuja stared at the envelope in Seymour’s hand for a long moment. He swallowed, doing his best not to cry. “Did you mean what you said?”

“What?”

“About changing.”

“I--yes, Kuja. I want to improve myself. I’m still alive, so I still have time, right?” He pointed the edge of the envelope at Kuja. “And if you were with me, you could help me. I mean, if anyone could help me come out of my shell, it’s you.”

“I’m flattered that you think so.” He took the envelope from Seymour and ran his fingers over the black letters again. “I don’t want to forget Mateus.”

“Neither do I.”

“But, if you meant what you said, about wanting to leave Alexandria behind and start over together, then... I’ll go.”

Seymour froze in place, his eyes widening. “What?”

“I’ll go with you.”

He swallowed and licked his lips. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Kuja let out a soft cry of surprise as Seymour lurched forward, nearly knocking their glasses over as he pulled the younger man into a tight hug.

“Seymour!”

He relaxed after a moment as he realized that Seymour’s shoulders were shaking. He pressed his hands to Seymour’s back.

“It’ll be okay, Seymour. We’ll make it okay.”

 

After they had a good cry together on the old couch, Seymour calmed himself down enough to make them some coffee and sandwiches. Kuja wasn’t all that hungry, since they had eaten at the diner only a few hours before, but he ate the offering anyway. Then they freshened up and went to the bank indicated in Mateus’s parting letter. It was the bank in town all the rich business folk used, and the bank teller gave Kuja a dubious look before noticing Seymour in his company. It took little fuss after that to have the contents of box 2910 retrieved for Kuja.

What was in box 2910 was nothing more than a cigar box. Gilded Gysahls, a brand that Kuja dimly recalled Mateus having said he bought his brother for Christmas every year. The box had been tied shut with a length of twine, but gave no indication to its present contents. Kuja mused over it while they walked back to Seymour’s apartment. The box made no noise when shaken, and it wasn’t particularly heavy. Kuja thought it a strange thing to recieve a mysterious gift from a dead man. But then, Mateus had always been a bit mysterious when he was alive. 

Back in the privacy of Seymour’s apartment, the older man used his pocket knife to cut the twine for Kuja. They sat on the couch, leaning in curiously as Kuja lifted the lid of the cigar box. 

“That is a lot of money,” Seymour said in a low, nearly reverent tone.

Kuja ignored the pile of green bundles and instead picked up a small piece of paper tucked under the top bundle. 

“ _’My dear Kuja. I feel a little naughty leaving this for you. No one in the family knows about this! For your own well being, please keep it secret. Just you and me. And Seymour, I suppose. He always has a way of finding things out when money is involved. Please consider this money to be several months of lost wages due to my unfortunate and sudden departure. Remember my love for you, and that I wish you to always be happy and well kept. All my love, Mateus.’_ ”

They were both quiet, considering the note and the box and its contents.

“That certain clears my mind of any concerns about being able to finance a trip away from Alexandria,” Kuja said after a few minutes. He ran his thumb over the edge of a stack of bills. “I wish I could thank him.”

“You can thank him by doing as he asked. By leaving the city and taking care of yourself.”

“Yes,” Kuja said. He put the note back into the cigar box and closed its lid. “So, where were you thinking of moving to?”

“I don’t know,” Seymour said. “Chicago, maybe?”

Kuja leaned and kissed his cheek. “Where you go, I will follow.”

 

_\--End--_


End file.
